


light me up again

by findyourstars



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Feel-ups in an alley, These ladies just can't keep their hands off each other, jealous Shaw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8532112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourstars/pseuds/findyourstars
Summary: Sameen’s response is to grab Root’s elbow and drag her into a nearby alley - a bona fide alley, trash cans and all. Root’s about to make some quip about having a moment to themselves when Shaw slams her against the wall, knocking the breath from her, and kisses her fiercely.
or
Sameen's not the jealous type, unless it comes to Root.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Shoot! Thanks to my bud Kris/killyhawk for giving me this prompt ("I don't see a lot of 'Shaw being jealous' fics") and to Ryann/endgirl for bugging me to finally finish it. Enjoy!

“Remember to use the code phrase if you feel like things are going to hell.”

Root continues walking, but she lets the corner of her lip twitch up into a smirk. “I’ve never needed to use a safe word before, Sameen,” she says lightly, forcing herself to keep her eyes forward. Sameen’s heels snap on the tile as she walks along behind her, and she hears her huff out a breath.

“You know what I mean. _God_ , Root, why do you always have to make everything so dirty?”

Again, Root keeps her gaze on the office floor she and Sameen are traversing, the black of her heels reflected off the too-polished floors. At least they’re tile, Root thinks automatically. Blood will be a lot easier to clean up than on carpet.

As if Harold can read her mind — and she wouldn’t put it past him — his voice crackles in through her cochlear implant. _“Please try to converse with our new number without killing anyone, if you would, Miss Groves.”_

“Oh ye of little faith,” Root says. Sameen chuckles, the sound low and dark, and it makes something hot and tantalizing and _urgent_ coil up tightly in Root’s lower abdomen. She lightly squeezes the fingers of her right hand into a fist, letting the pinch of nails against skin clear her mind, and then releases.

“Samantha Lewis for Mr. Patterson,” Root says to the receptionist, putting on her most professional smile. It still has a little bit of sharpness to it, and the young man is quick to call back to his boss. Within moments, he’s settling her and Shaw in a conference room with a view then leaves them alone.

Root is eyeing the long, glazed table and imagining Sameen sprawled beneath her, eyes dark with ecstasy, and it’s not helping the little fire in her stomach. At least the other woman is currently crammed into a beige pant-suit and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Sameen fidgets with her blazer and pulls a face. Root laughs.

“All it takes is a bit of wool to throw you off your game, hmm?” She teases. Root has always been good at sniffing out the soft parts of others, looking for the places to poke to make them roll over. It’s become such a lifesaving habit that she does it almost without thinking now.

Sameen shoots her a tight glare. “Shut up,” she grumbles. “I don’t know why I have to be your ‘assistant’,” she uses her index fingers to form air quotes, “and you get to do all the fun stuff.”

“Because, dear,” Root takes an unhurried step towards her, then another, “you’re not exactly great with people.”

_“Someone has to get close enough to sync her phone with Mr. Patterson’s without attracting attention,”_ Harold chimes in through their shared coms line, and Shaw flinches like she has a mosquito buzzing by her ear.

_“And Patterson likes leggy brunettes,”_ John puts in, making Root grin.

“I’ve always said my firearm wasn’t my only weapon.”

“I’m a leggy brunette,” Sameen pouts, but the lines in her face are beginning to smooth into the serenity she sinks into when they’re on a case. The killing calm.

Root takes that as her own cue to get into character, and she steps away from Sameen, turning lazily to face the view of the city stretched out before them. The sun has passed its overhead point, and the office building that Root and Shaw are in casts a shadow across the squared-off streets below. Root lets her mind wander as her gaze follows a particularly dapper pigeon strutting along the sidewalk, and she has sunk into her own sort of quiet concentration by the time the conference room door opens.

Patterson is a very average-looking man in a well-tailored suit and shiny shoes. But as Root shakes his hand and plasters a soft smile on her face, she notices that his eyes are a little too sharp and cunning, and they linger a little too long on her lips, then her chest.

Bingo. As he’s settling himself at the head of the conference table, Root unfastens a button on her blouse and pushes her chest forward just the tiniest bit.

The meeting begins, and Root smiles and simpers in all the right places as Patterson outlines the sustainability project that she is supposedly here to invest in. When she laughs at a particularly dull quip, Sameen kicks her under the table. Root ignores her and takes Sameen’s discomfort as a sign that she’s on the right track.

So she turns up the charm. She releases a second button when Patterson isn’t looking and leans forward into the conference table to show the tiny amount of cleavage that she has been blessed with. It’s not much, but Patterson is melting like putty in her hand.

“So, Ms. Lewis,” he says during a break in the conversation, leaning back in his chair with his hands propped behind his head. “Tell me a little bit about yourself.”

Root’s smile is real as she swirls the ice around in her drink, and she spares a brief glance over her shoulder at Sameen, who has been stony-faced and silent throughout the meeting. She’s been a little too closed-off for Root’s liking — a real assistant would be perky and invested in the business her boss was conducting, but she knows she’d never get “perky” out of Shaw.

“I have a dog,” she says sweetly, turning back to Patterson. “A corgi.”

“Ah, a dog-lover! I knew there was a reason I liked you.” He grins. “I have a yellow lab, I prefer big dogs myself.”

Sameen gives a barely-audible snort behind Root, who looks into her lap to hide a grin that’s just a little too wide. 

“And how do you spend your free time?” Patterson again, his voice casual.

Root shrugs, mirroring his tone. She could do this all day. “Oh, I do yoga,” she says, pretending like she can’t see the way his pupils dilate with lust.

“I bet you’re really…flexible, then.”

Root allows herself a tiny, flirtatious smirk. “Some people have said so,” she says coyly.

Behind her, there’s a sharp, violent sound like a crack forming in a tiny glacier, and it’s only her years of training that keep Root from whirling around to glare at Sameen, who has grasped her glass so tightly she has shattered it.

Sameen apologizes profusely, truly falling into character for the first time since they’ve been here as Patterson’s secretary comes in to sweep up the mess. Root keeps an expression of faint embarrassment on her face, ever the picture of a young professional side-tracked by her clumsy assistant.

Thankfully - for all of their sakes - the rest of the meeting goes off without a hitch. Root even manages to lift Patterson’s house key from his jacket pocket when they’re shaking hands goodbye.

Root remains silent as she and Sameen make their way to the elevator, and as it slowly sinks back towards the streets of New York. She doesn’t trust elevators, with their tight spaces and open-access security cameras, but she still sends a little wink up towards The Machine as the doors open.

“Well I think that went well,” she says lightly. “When you weren’t breaking our host’s glassware.”

Sameen is silent, walking half a step behind her shoulder like a bodyguard. Root presses on.

“Did you get his phone synced?”

A curt nod. Sameen’s jaw is clamped tight, and Root can almost hear her grinding her teeth. They’re far enough away from the building now that she allows herself a reaction.

“What’s your problem?”

Sameen’s response is to grab Root’s elbow and drag her into a nearby alley - a bona fide alley, trash cans and all. Root’s about to make some quip about having a moment to themselves when Shaw slams her against the wall, knocking the breath from her, and kisses her fiercely.

Oh.

_“That’s my problem,”_ Sameen growls after they’ve surfaced for air. Root breathes out a laugh and chases Sameen’s lower lip with her teeth, then bites down a little too hard. Shaw gasps, a metallic tang sharp in both of their mouths, and presses her more firmly back against the wall.

“You little slut,” she says, eyes dark with lust. Blood speckles her lower lip like a tiny string of pearls. “Ready to sleep with a mark to get what we want from him.”

“Like you’ve never done it before,” Root purrs back, arching against the wall so her hips are flush with Sameen’s. “I never guessed you for the jealous type, my dear.” 

In response, Sameen trails her lips down the side of Root’s neck and bites over her pulse-point, making Root hiss. Root’s never been much of a biter herself, but she does like some pain with her pleasure, and Sameen likes to play rough.

Speaking of rough…Root pushes out against Sameen’s shoulders, unbalancing her, and spins them until Sameen is the one up against the dirty brick. She can hear the dull thud as her shoulders strike the wall and places a palm on either side of her head to cage her in.

“There’s a lot you’ve never guessed about me,” Sameen pants back. The edge to her smile could sink battleships, bring down empires. Root kisses her to shut her up.

Sameen’s hands are the first to wander, and Root shivers as her cool touch creeps up her shirt to press against her stomach. Root responds by nipping at Sameen’s earlobe, then the soft skin between ear and jaw, and Sameen’s hands pause for a moment, distracted, before ascending to the soft curve of Root’s breasts.

“I’ve never been felt up in an alley before,” Root whispers, teasing, and Sameen smiles against the skin of her collarbone. 

“Liar.”

“Guilty,” Root concedes, and tilts her face to the sky in pleasure as Sameen’s nails scratch loose circles around her nipples. Her own hands are stalled on Shaw’s waist, and she lets her thumbs hook through the other girl’s belt loops.

There’s a burst of static in both their ears, making Sameen flinch. One of her nails snags over Root’s sternum and draws blood, and Root sucks in a quick breath.

_“Miss Shaw, Miss Groves? A status report would be nice.”_

Shaw growls and yanks her earpiece out. Root doesn’t have that luxury. When she’s distracted, Sameen takes the opportunity to regain lost ground and shove Root back against the wall again.

“We’ve got time,” she whispers, her breath ghosting across Root’s neck before her teeth meet flesh. Root sucks in a breath and arches forward again, grinding her hips desperately against Sameen’s as the other woman nips and sucks, using her tongue to soothe the wounds she’s leaving in her wake. 

Root doesn’t know how much time they spend in that alley, breathing in dirt and pheromones, but it’s John’s voice that crackles in through her cochlear implant next.

_“Root, your man’s leaving his office with a couple of low-grade Russian thugs tailing him. Better get over here before things get messy.”_

Root sighs in disappointment, and Sameen pulls away, although it takes a moment to disentangle her hands from Root’s clothing. 

“Gotta go, sunshine,” Root says breezily, and leans in to peck Sameen on the lips before straightening her shirt and dashing out of the alley.

John’s waiting for her at the street corner just outside Patterson’s building. He tosses her a pistol and stops, eyeing her critically.

“What?” Root cocks her head, smirking. “Is there something on my face?”

“Not, uh, your face exactly.” John’s fighting a smile, and Root cranes her neck as best as she can to see the hickies she knows Sameen left behind. “Looks like the meeting went well?”

Surprisingly enough, Root feels a blush warming her cheekbones. “Shut up,” she says. “Let’s go shoot out some kneecaps.”


End file.
